State of Grace
by MegK1978
Summary: As promised, a "Chapter 2" of sorts/sequel to "Respect". Two months post-"Gift", a new Slayer has arrived and Spike has to deal with Buffy's death all over again. R&R, pretty please!!!!!!


"State of Grace" by MK

"State of Grace" by MK

Summary/time context: A "chapter 2" of sorts to "Respect", beginning a month afterward. A new Slayer has come, and Spike has to deal with Buffy's death all over again.

Disclaimer: I only own two major characters; nothing else is mine.

Distribution: "Death-Marked Love", anyone else, ask first!

Feedback? PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU!J

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

A small, slight figure peeked into the bedroom, with dark, almond-shaped eyes. They beheld Cameron Connor, his black, shoulder-length hair disheveled, his eyes closed. A comforter covered his lean, power-housing body. 

The figure, obviously female in the artificial dark of closed blinds, stepped into the room, a pitcher of ice water in one hand. Jet-black hair had been woven into an intricate braid and pinned up in a bun sitting on top of her head. People had often made the mistake of comparing her to a porcelain doll; soon after, they'd learned that her delicate exterior hid the will and heart of a warrior, even before she had been called.

"You don't have to creep around, Grace. I'm awake."

Grace Fujiama, the Vampire Slayer, jumped at Cameron's voice, seeing his bright blue eyes twinkle at her in amusement. She cursed at herself for being startled. "I thought you were asleep," she said, her voice soft. Although she'd grown up in San Francisco, she had never lost the accent of her ancestors' homeland. She held up the pitcher. "I brought more water for you."

Cameron moaned slightly, wanting to bury his head under the pillow. "Xander is under the mistaken impression that sustaining a blast of magickal energy is the same as having the flu."

Mere days after Grace had arrived on the Hellmouth, a wizard had arrived, looking for other beings of supernatural power to supplement his own. Unfortunately, that involved killing the beings with power so his could be sustained. He had captured Willow and Tara, and zapped Cameron when he'd tried to help them.

"I'm just glad you were there to pull my butt out of the fire," Cameron went on, "despite what happened before."

Grace shook her head. "I'm so unused to having people other than my Watcher know who and what I am. And how was I to know that vampire was your friend?"

Cameron carefully pushed himself to sit up, drawing his legs aside so she could sit beside him. "Okay, change of subject. You settling in all right?"

She nodded. "It's one thing to have others know. It's another to know the same people who had known your predecessor." She sighed. "I sometimes get the feeling they are comparing me to her. They try to hide it, make seem like nothing, but I can see it in their eyes."

He gently gripped her hand. "They can't turn off their emotions, Grace. Like it or not, they all still grieve for her."

"I know. I understand that. But my heart and my head are two very different things." Grace began studying him with great intensity. "Do you know where her resting place is?"

Cameron blinked. "Yeah, why?"

A small smile graced her lips. "Well, I believe I've been remiss in my manners by not introducing myself to my fallen sister.

He threw his head back and laughed, which earned him a slight headache and an insulted look. "What's so funny?"

He shook his head, pressing his fingers to a temple. "I'm not laughing at you. The night after I arrived in Sunnydale, I paid her my own respects."

Her smile returned and transformed into a grin. "So, we go?"

"As soon as I recover," he promised, "we'll go."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It was a stiflingly humid, late-July night. Cameron wore his loosest T-shirt and shorts, flapping the fabric once in a while to circulate the air around him. It was the kind of night that wrapped everything in a hot, wet blanket.

_Not even back home can it get this bad,_ the young sorcerer thought.

Then he heard the familiar, telltale sounds of battle. Fishing out a stake, he ran toward the noise… 

Only to see a scene out of a horror movie. Bits and pieces of three demons were scattered, bleeding ichor into the ground. And standing in the middle of the carnage was Spike, in full demon regalia, his hair, hands and clothes stained with demon goo.

Tonight had been meant as a routine patrol, just something to let out his frustrations. But then three Lisrax demons had decided to jump him. One had made the mistake of insulting the memory of Buffy Summers, which had sent the vampire into a homicidal rage, seeing nothing but red. 

Spike turned his yellow eyes on Cameron and, without thinking, charged full-tilt at him. In defense, Cameron threw his hands before him, shouting, _"Wall of air, solidify!"_

Spike slammed into the invisible wall, created from compacted air molecules. He fell to the ground, blinking in confusion. 

"Spike, it's me," Cameron said. "Pull in back. Calm down."

Spike squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the anger away, the demon down. His human features in place, he looked up with dark-blue eyes again. 

"You gonna attack me again?"

It was a perfectly reasonable question, but Spike smiled wryly anyway, shaking his head. "No, I'm okay."

Cameron looked at what was left of the Lisrax, suppressing a shudder. _Debatable sentiment,_ he thought, but dispelled the wall with a wave of his hands.

Spike got to his feet. "Good night?"

The sorcerer's face began to turn slightly green. "It'll get better once I get away from the slaughter."

The bleached vampire smirked. "Poofter." But they walked until the smell of demon blood only came from Spike.

They stopped at a fountain in a nearby park, where Spike began to wash up. "Damn," he cursed, scrubbing at the leather. "Why'd they have t' bleed on my duster."

Pictures of demon parts flashed in Cameron's mind, making him feel nauseous a moment. "Why'd they have to bleed at all? They attack you?"

"Yeah, had t' put 'em down."

Cameron caught the slight hesitation in his voice. "Is there something else?"

Spike stopped trying to clean the duster and looked at him, his eyes filming with tears, grief and sorrow naked and open in them.

Cameron's own eyes widened as he realized. _Oh, no._ "The dream again?"

Spike nodded. The dream had begun to plague his daytime slumber two weeks before, when the new Slayer had arrived and nearly dusted him. Since then, every time he had the dream, he'd take his rage and grief out on the nearest nasty. Tonight, that had just happened to be the Lisrax.

Cameron could tell that whatever haunted the vampire's sleep was wreaking havoc on his nerves and emotions. He didn't dare touch him with his power, as he had when they'd first met. He was half-afraid of a possible backlash that wasn't practiced enough to prepare for. He settled for the next best thing. "Was it bad?" he asked softly.

"In a tear-your-heart-out-and-stomp-on-it kind of way." Spike had to close his eyes a moment, doing his best to keep his voice from cracking. "She came back, coming closer all the time." His tone became bittersweet as he became lost in the memory. "I can see her, alive. I can hear her heartbeat, smell her scent. Just when she's in arm's length, when she's close enough for me to touch her, she's yanked away again." Tears escaped his eyes, his throat convulsing. "Her eyes tell me not to let her go. I woke up calling her name."

Cameron winced in sympathetic heartache. In the weeks following his arrival, he had found Spike so unlike any other vampire he'd ever encountered, and more human than a few people he'd known. In knowing Spike, he knew of his love for Buffy even in death. The sorcerer had only known of such a love a few times, known to transform one's nature into something nobler and better than it had been before.

Spike broke the spell by clearing his throat, swiping almost angrily at the tears on his face. "So, Cam, what does it mean, eh?"

Cameron blinked. "Spike, in case you've forgotten, I'm a _sorcerer_, _not_ a dream-reader." He spread his arms. "Look at me. Do I _look_ like I'm wearing a technicolor dream-coat?"

In spite of himself, Spike chuckled and shook his head. "You're right, Cam. Sorry. Didn't mean to put ya on the spot."

"No problem." He dug a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and held it out. "Trade you for your coat."

Spike blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Relax, I'm not gonna make off with it. It's not my style anyway."

The vampire smiled, took the cloth. Wetting it, he cleaned his face while Cameron took the stained leather duster in his hands, trying to not wince at the smell. He closed his eyes a moment, reaching into the quiet, just enough to tap a small amount of power. His eyes opened again, staring intently at the coat.

Spike, meanwhile, watched the younger man with interest, not saying anything to distract him. From his years on this earth, he'd learned enough of magic-makers in general that even the simplest spell or incantation could go haywire.

He watched as the blood stains peeled away from the leather, hung in midair for a moment, then dissipated into nothing.

Cameron held it up, as clean as if it were new again. Spike whistled through his teeth. "Nice trick."

"Picked it up from Mom," Cameron replied. "She only uses it on the _really_ stubborn stains."

Spike took it back, slipping his arms into the sleeves. It almost _smelled_ new. "She'd make a fortune in dry-cleaning."

Cameron gave a bark of dry laughter. "You try to convince her to give up her calling as a writer. It helps that it brings an income, it's not just something she enjoys doing."

Spike gestured to the duster. "Thanks." His slight embarrassment showing in his voice, and he was grateful Cameron hadn't made a big deal of his tears. "Walk you back?"

"I'm actually going to meet Xander and the others at the Bronze. Want to come with?"

"Nah. Promised Li'l Bit I'd try t' pack it in early."

Cameron couldn't help but smile. He'd seen Spike and Dawn together, the way they acted toward each other. In some ways, each was the only family the other had left. "See you tomorrow night?"

A quick nod. "Right. See you then." The vampire turned to leave. He had a glowy Key thing to get home to.

Cameron watched him walk away. Lately, he seemed quicker to kill anything non-human, losing himself in the violence to forget the pain in his heart. The dream just added fuel to the fire, driving him insane with grief. Tonight was the first time he'd been so far gone that he hadn't recognized a friend.

While it was true that he wasn't a dream-reader, for his friend's sanity, Cameron was willing to try.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Spike arrived at 1630 Revello Drive before midnight (which was early for a creature such as himself). He unlocked the door and crept upstairs, first checking on the Watcher before entering Dawn's room.

She was thrashing in her sleep, strangled whimpers spilling from her throat. Spike was glad he'd washed up beforehand, and began to shake her out of the nightmare. "Oi, Nibblet!" he called softly. "Dawn, wake up!"

Her eyes snapped open, unfocused and fearful for a moment. In the dark of night, she saw him and her face began to crumble. "Spike." Then she burst into tears. 

He drew her close and tight, feeling her hot tears on his chest, her body shaking with sobs in his arms. He often did the same thing every night, calming her after each violent awakening, and lulling her back to sleep after assuring her he wouldn't leave. Tonight was no real exception.

He mumbled nonsense words to her, rocking her gently, stroking her hair. When she lifted teary eyes to look at him, the saw the three words that she had banned from her vocabulary, yet still repeated with every tear that fell:

_I miss her._

Toeing off his boots, he carefully sat up, leaning against the headboard, still cradling her to his chest, and held her until he felt her breath even out as she slept. "Big Bad's lookin' after ya, Sweet Bit," he whispered, kissing her head lightly. "'Til the end of the world."

Even as she slept, he had a vague feeling that she smiled.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Cameron spent the next few days quietly researching and compiling information, looking for anything that constituted or involved dream reading. He even e-mailed home to ask his mother what she knew of the subject. She returned the message with her own notes, which she had used for a previous novel. She had also warned him to be careful, as dream reading could be dangerous to attempt for anyone not born to do so. 

Soon Cameron was properly informed, forewarned and forearmed. 

He didn't want to get anyone's hopes up with this, especially Spike's. Between his grief for Buffy and helping Giles take care of Dawn, he didn't need to know that Cameron was going to attempt to discover what the dream meant.

Cameron was grateful that an earlier thunderstorm had abated some of the humidity. Like he had done once before, he waited until Xander and Anya were asleep. This time, taking his pouch of essentials, he crept to the roof of the apartment building where breezes were more abundant. He sat and set up what he needed, burning incense again. A single lit candle was to his left, a small pile of dirt to his right, and before him, between the other two, was a small bowl of water.

He evened his breathing, keeping his mind and body quiet, his body still, before beginning.

_"I call upon you,_

_Spirits of earth, air, fire, and water_

_I beg your help_

_To understand the dreams of another."_

Following his mother's notes in his head, he added a request in his own words, letting his worry show in his tone. "Please tell me what it means, if it means anything. Let me help my friend."

A miniature tornado whirled behind him, then around him, tossing his hair about his head. The flame of the candle flared and rose. The water splashed over the side of the bowl to soak into the handful of dirt. The spiritual embodiments of all four elements merged to surround him. Then all was pain; he was burning, drowning, buried, the wind. Every cell in his body hurt, trying to compensate for the energies converging around him, inside him. It was all he could do not to cry out.

Moments later, he was flat on his back, regaining the breath that had been knocked from him. He carefully breathed out the fire, earth, and water that had been within him, coughing. He smiled. It had worked.

He knew what it meant.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It had taken Cameron three weeks to get to Sunnydale by the scenic route. If he only stopped to sleep and eat, he'd be home in two, just in time to begin his graduate classes. 

The Scoobies, except Spike, were there to see him off.

Cameron grinned at his cousin. "You'll let me know when you set the date?"

"Absolutely." Xander held out his hand. "It was good to have you here, Cam."

"It was good to be here." He took the hand, pulling him into a hug. "I'll see you soon, Alex." He next turned to Anya. "Take care of each other. You're gonna make a beautiful bride."

Anya grinned shyly, hugging her cousin-in-law-to-be. "And I'll bet you'll look great in a tux," she returned. "Take care."

"You too." Cameron smiled at his fellow magic-makers. "Willow, Tara, it's been a pleasure."

"I had fun learning from you, Cam," Willow replied. 

Tara just touched his hand, and felt her happiness and pleasure at his presence, her hope that he'll come back.

Cameron squeezed her hand in return. "Thank you." _You're getting better all the time,_ he thought to her gently. _Keep it up._

Tara blinked and grinned.

Giles shook hands with the sorcerer. "Thank you for all your help, Cam."

"It was my honor, Giles. If you need my mom's help, or mine I gave my phone number and e-mail address to the others. You can reach us almost anytime."

Giles nodded. "Of course. Again, thank you."

Cameron smiled at the Slayer. "You'll be okay here, Grace?"

Her almond eyes twinkled. "I will be." She took his hands in hers. _"Be well, and safe journey, Cameron-san,"_ she said in Japanese.

_"Thank you, Grace-san,"_ he replied. _"Take care."_

Last, but not least was Dawn. Cameron hesitated a moment. "Um, walk me to my 'cycle?"

Dawn's brow furrowed, but she went along. "Sure." Once they were beside the machine, Dawn asked, "What's wrong?"

Cameron blinked and smiled. "Was I that obvious?"

Dawn smiled, too. "I'm not just a Key; I'm a 15-year-old girl who keeps her eyes open." Then she was serious again. "What's up?"

"Do you know if Spike's okay? I mean," he continued off her confused look, "the last couple of weeks he hasn't looked good, like he's not getting enough rest or blood or both. I just wondered, since you seem closest to him."

She shook her head, her chocolate hair swinging around her. "He's eating pretty regularly. He's been asleep while I've been playing catch-up with school."

"Okay, just thought I'd ask. Oh, and one thing more." He pulled a small envelope from his pocket. "Spike asked me to look into something for him. He wasn't really serious about it, but I thought I'd do it anyway. That's what I found. Could you give it to him later?"

Dawn turned the envelope in her hands, investigating it. "Sure."

But Cameron knew the curious look on her face; he'd seen his brothers and sisters wear the same expression too many times before. "No, you can't look at what it is," he said in a joking tone. "It's for _his_ eyes, got it?"

She sighed but knew his was serious. "Got it."

"Good." He gently touched her hair, smiling. "Take care of each other. I'll see you when I come back."

She squeezed his hand with hers. "You'd better. 'Bye, Cam."

He nodded and stepped away, blowing her a small kiss. The dark helmet came down on his head once more as he straddled the 'cycle. Opening the throttle, he kicked off and roared away east, toward home. 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The night was clear, crisp, the moon and stars lighting the earth as brightly as the sun itself.

Vampires and other creatures heard the quiet shattered by a howl, which some would say rivaled that of any werewolf. None would have guessed what, or who, was the source of that howl.

Spike stood atop one of the larger mausoleums, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Beside his feet was the note Dawn had given him earlier. He and Cameron had said their farewells the night before; he'd never even mentioned doing or learning anything for him. He wasn't sure if the scrawled, cryptic line was meant to torment him or give him hope:

_I don't know how or when, but she will return to you._


End file.
